Following the Light
by happyharper13
Summary: Neon red signs flickered and seldom seemed to mind the temporary casualties of lights and letters blown out and left in a deeper red -- the same crimson as dried blood. Riley Adams couldn't look away. Expository oneshot.


* * *

**Welcome to Vegas**

Riley Adams answered Las Vegas's siren song.

She stared out from behind thin glasses and tucked a loose strand of oily hair out behind her ear as she surveyed the expanse before her.

It was an ugly city. They called it glamorous, but she found the glare of the city lights hideous, even as it enticed her. Casino signs branded across the skyline were a blemish on what could, someday, have been a gorgeous desert landscape, but she still couldn't stop herself from reading the neon signs, nor did she want to.

It was dark, and Riley had always loved the dark.

Smoke stacks stepped up across dying stairs of air, pushing out poisonous puffs of carbon dioxide. Little people -- each identical and anonymous in the toxic urban night -- scattered like ants over slick stretches of worn, grey, terse pavement.

Too-bright signs, advertising convenience, food, sex, booze and much else, shone dimly through the foggy darkness. Neon red signs flickered, and seldom seemed to mind the temporary casualties of lights and letters blown out and left in a deeper red -- the red of dried blood. Words went on without their missing letters. Somehow, the messages were always in tact, even to the tourists to whom such venues were unfamiliar.

Driving down the mountain, she saw, reluctantly, the city growing closer and closer. It moved, yet stood still. It was bright, dangerous and seductive. She stared out, one last time, at the desert bordering the long highway, bidding ado to the safety of its empty, organic expanses.

She could barely make out the desert plants on the dry ground as she sped by them. So many were dried out, run over or long ago smothered in exhaust.

The cityscape beckoned her, and she, begrudgingly, consented. The trip was almost over anyways.

Sin City greeted her with a metal sign, tilted over silver polls stabbed into the dry ground. Then dry ground gave way to pavement, and pavement to apartment complexes, buildings, sidewalks, movie theaters, casinos and malls.

Arid desert dirt and drying, dying cacti morphed quickly -- too quickly -- into stealthily moving citizens in her rear-view mirror. And she kept driving, willing herself not to stare bug-eyed at the foreign, monstrous, fantastical and alluring sights surrounding her. Las Vegas was a freakshow; a circus or a car crash on the side of the road. It always attracted rubberneckers. And Riley, certainly, couldn't look away.

The building wasn't hard to find. A squat, block nestled into the strip, between various business ventures, read in a sterile print, "LAS VEGAS CRIME LAB."

She pulled in.

A parking attendant left her headphones on, one hand idly tapping to the beat of some mysterious, slow-moving song, as the other hand carelessly slipped a small pink card into Riley's hand.

"Machine's broken," the woman added, with effortless nonchalance, as the tapping hand moved briefly to press the button to lift the yellow bar up, and out of the way of Riley's small Volkswagon.

"Thanks," Riley replied, curtly, before rolling up her window and edging quickly toward a spot.

The parking wasn't as bad as she would have expected at the crime lab. Perhaps, she wondered, that meant there weren't quite as many criminals coming in as the building's designers had originally planned. Then again, she thought, knowing Vegas, this building might well have been a casino, or some other sketchy entity, before earning its current assignment.

She sighed as she walked out of her car and towards the scarcely labelled entrance. A tired looking older man sat on the front stairs -- legally too close to the building -- blowing and coughing out the stench of nicotine through the thinly wrapped paper leech.

She looked down briefly -- curiously -- and was greeted with an echoing stare. She smiled, turned to the entrance and, finally, seized the scratched silver handle to the heavy glass door, and swung it open.

The Lab was busy, but quiet. Workers plugged away, and moved hastily, all seemingly consumed by the puzzles of crimes.

Science intersected with an ethereal, modern aesthetic in the clear, clean windows and smooth tiled floors. Dim cerulean lighting caught the glass bordering various laboratories at intriguing angles, creating a mosaic of pale blues and grays before her.

Tapping, pittering and pattering feet passed her, carefully turning and by-stepping the lone, static woman. Papers flashed before her, flapping in the air as workers rushed past. Many faces remained hidden by the papers, or simply lost into trains of thought riding in every direction, at least all directions that led toward cases' solutions.

In the gentle whir of motion, Riley found calm, knowing she'd found her home, in the precious, dedicated productivity. She broke out into a smile. In the midst of Sin City, Riley Adams had found her home.

* * *

Author's Note: I wrote this, originally, as a part of Juarez, as I had originally intended to include Riley in said story. The story changed, making this oneshot irrelevant. Nonetheless, after watching Riley's first few episodes, I felt like this brief expository piece still fit Riley's character. Per usual, reviews are love. If you leave a review, then I might just give you a sneakpeek regarding 'Stress Fractures' or 'Juarez.'

:)

Harper


End file.
